


Like Real People Do (Sleeping Beauty)

by Zyrielle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Maleficent (2014) Fusion, Blood and Gore, Hozier, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Song Lyrics, like real people do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-13 12:18:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16017764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zyrielle/pseuds/Zyrielle
Summary: A short song Fic Based on Hozier's Song "Like Real People Do" with a dash of Sleeping Beauty ElementsIf Hannibal was a prince-of some sortand Will were some sort of Aurora*not the entire fairytale*





	1. Of the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't already, I strongly urge you to listen to Hozier's song "Like real people do" first. Go!
> 
> Hozier said the song was influenced by (Oscar Wilde)- an adult fairy tale story. He liked the image of someone taking a person from the earth as their lover.  
> I took it quite literally and married it with Sleeping Beauty 
> 
> This first part of the story will be Hanni's  
> Chapter 2 will be the rest of the song from Will's POV
> 
> This is not the whole shebang of the fairy tale story. Just (what I think) are the important parts.

**__**

Hannibal studies Will. Tracking every movement, one always conscious of the other even though they aren't directly looking. Will is like the sun and Hannibal the moon, always looking and chasing, thirsting and wanting more. It is never enough. He could never completely possess nor predict the impossibility that is Will Graham. He watches the beautiful man as he moves across the room, playing oblivious to being observed, until their eyes meet and a knowing smile flashes through the young face, only for a second before his attention is called elsewhere. Hannibal reminisces, and it takes him down corridors and bolted doors in his memory palace, until he finds the right one. It is one of his most precious memories, how they first met.

 

**_I had a thought dear_ **  
**_However scary_ **  
**_About that night_ **  
**_The bugs and the dirt_ **

  


The dirt is firm and unyielding. Each stab at it with the shovel seems harder than the last. The muscles in his arms are beginning to ache from exertion and his breaths become labored. He chose this location because the earth and the forest is undisturbed, from countless years past and for the years to come, he is sure. Already he has hidden the products of his unconventional hobby in the same forest. Separated by miles, mountains, rivers and trees, their final resting places unmarked, inconspicuous and never to be found. He makes a tableau occasionally, when inspiration strikes. Breaking the mundane peace with stunning masterpieces, gaining attention from the sheep called people. He is never satisfied though, as he draws their awe and fascination for all the wrong reasons. They give him a name, profile him and sensationalize his works-but they never truly understand. _Like casting pearls before swine._  He scoffs.  _Great artists in history are appreciated years after their deaths._  So he does not worry. He is put on the top of several lists, studies and documentaries are made about. Victims are recorded and immortalized in media-yet what little they know of him barely scratches the surface and his known victim count is but a fraction of the real number. And so he is here now, disposing of yet another one that has failed to spark inspiration. She was useful as he was able to harvest the cuts he needed. But alas, she was not even notable enough to remember, just another business card to burn, a forgettable face who only garnered his attention due to her rude behavior. He really is just taking the trash out

  


_**Why were you digging** _  
_**What did you bury** _  
_**Before those hands pulled me from the earth?** _

  


The hole is nearly deep enough when the shovel hits something hard. He frowns. He has gone through several layers of rocks but this felt different. It sounded like glass, yet glass would have broken with the force he used. He uses his shoe to wipe away the dirt. The glass layer goes on and on,beyond the sides of the grave he has dug. Curious, he digs a flashlight from his pocket. The inky darkness within the glass is pierced by harsh LED light. It is hollow, it seems, until he sees a flash of red and white. The thick glass prevents him from seeing clearly. They look like roses, but he is not sure. He ponders on the possible preservation methods on flowers when he turns his attention on the mass resting on them. It is long, white and smooth, like marble. He rubs on the glass again and stops. Upon close inspection, one can clearly see is the shape of a foot. He pauses and thinks for a minute, intrigued by what he has stumbled upon. Surely it must be a statue as it showed no signs of decay that should be present were it made of flesh. _A statue encased in a glass coffin, how romantic_. He starts digging again, this time with renewed vigor.

  


**_I will not ask you where you came from_ **  
**_I will not ask, and neither should you_ **

__

He brings his discovery home under the cover of night, making sure that no one sees or suspects anything. He is careful as he has always been. It is why he has eluded capture for so many years. The glass-like coffin is now laying on a metal table in his basement. It is still caked in mud. He is anxious to see the life sized marble statue inside, but he is patient. Still dressed in his protective waterproof layers, he grabs a hose and a sponge. He will see it first as it is meant to be seen, within its crystal case. He turns on the water and starts scrubbing.

The coffin is made of some type of crystal-that he is sure. Its shape is geometric but imperfect. It is perfectly sealed like an egg. There is no door, hinge or lid that could be found. One might think the crystal grew around whatever is within, or it grew within the crystal. _Such mystery, to have such an unbreakable cage. To keep thieves and vandals out_ , he wonders, _or to keep something within?_ He marvels at it. The thick outer layer obscures its contents, color the only thing visible from the outside. He opens it by using his power saw to cut a lid off the front. Now it really was a coffin with a lid. All that was left was to slide it open. He brings himself a glass of wine to commemorate. How often did one come across hidden treasures on murder runs?

Taking his time, he sips slowly. He sets the glass down, and pries the lid open. The smell is of old flowers and stale musty air. The flowers were old and dried yet not shriveled. They retained their vibrant colours. He turns his attention to the figure laying in them. It is naked, save for the its privates which are obscured by more flowers. It is stunning. Long slender alabaster limbs, so lifelike that they might begin moving any moment. Crowning its head are rich brown curls and its lashes arere adorned with fine hair. He knew it was a technique used by Japanese doll makers, to use real human hair. Some religious statues in different cultures and churches used real hair as well. Rose petal pink lips slightly parted as if asleep, but no breath passes through them. He is awed at the details-it is too lifelike. Reaching out a hand, he runs his fingers through its chest. It is smooth and cold like marble. Expecting it to be hard applies some pressure and is surprised that it is soft but stiff exactly like skin on a body after rigor mortis has set in. _Could it be more wax?_ He is stunned. His eyes sweep the figure again, from its delicate toes, slender coltish legs, the planes of its chest to its exquisite face. It is the perfect picture of a young man preserved in his peak youth. It is as if he had stepped out of a Botticelli painting and decided to lay rest in this glass coffin. It is beautiful as sin.

  


**_Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips_ **  
**_We should just kiss like real people do_ **

**_  
_ **

He remembers his youth, when he believed he was still capable of love. He was obsessed with the paintings in the museums, particularly the Primavera. A hint of that old flame, a trace of that passion is revived by this still figure. Along with it another feeling, the ache he feels, his loneliness carefully kept at bay. It had long been dismissed as a distraction. He has already accepted that he would never find an equal or at least a companion for the rest of his days. Still, looking at the beauty in front of him, he wishes. He thinks of fairy tales, of heroes that fall for the tactics of wicked witches and evil relatives-all magically rescued by true love’s kiss. He chuckles to himself. He may be more tired than he thinks, and the wine may have loosened him a tad bit much. Leaning forward, he hovers over its face, committing every single detail to memory, storing it away, to be replicated later by graphite on paper. Reverently, he places his lips over its own, and more reverently still, closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of old blossoms. He stays there for a few seconds, indulging in his foolishness in these most private of moments. He leans back. 

Seafoam green eyes with specks of gold stare up at him. He freezes for a moment, stunned. He moves. The eyes follow him. There is a curious consciousness behind them. His heart thunders once, twice, before taking a leap down a cliff. He swallows. Hannibal does the only thing he can do at the moment. He smiles.

  



	2. Of Appetites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As per Hozier:
> 
> The song is sung from the perspective of the person being dug up from the ground, which is great. They’re very happy about but they are understandably suspicious as to why there was a person in the woods digging holes and he’s gonna ask questions ‘what the hell were you doing and what the hell were you looking for?’
> 
> What kind of person would be doing that at that hour?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a lot longer.  
> I decided to put Will's history on a different chapter. 
> 
> I didn't know I was writing a novel when I started this.

Will watches Hannibal. To this day the man still awes him. There is a way that Hannibal looks at him, that fills him with a fuzzy feeling, one that warms him and sends shivers down his spine at the same time. There is worshipping adiration, but underneath it is a jealous possesiveness that is so well hidden, so deadly that death comes to those who come across it. The man is a beast after all, a predator. There is nothing as scary and as delightful as being loved my a monster. Aware that he is being watched and determined to ignore him, he moves about.

Try as he may, he cannot help but look. There is such emotion that it makes him want to run, yet it is also what roots him there. He smiles and tries to hold back shudder of satisfaction. He forces his attention elsewhere. It scares him, yet he also hungers for it. Even in what feels like an eternity together, he could still not fully grasp or understand the enigma that is Hannibal Lecter. He thinks back to their first meeting-the shocks, the horrors, and the damning, insatiable need.

 

**I knew that look dear**

**Eyes always seeking**

 

Warm. His lips are warm for a few seconds. Eyes flutter open. The first thing he sees is a face that is attached to his. There is smooth olive skin, deep set eyes, and dark sandy hair that is slicked back. The figure over him leans back and the warmth leaves his lips. Their eyes meet.

Now from a distance he can see that the man is startlingly handsome. He has a chiseled face, high cheekbones, wide lips, and expressive eyes the color of dried blood that look like they should be smiling, but they aren't, not right now. The man moves, he watches. There is shock and for a moment, dumbstruck vulnerability. He wonders what moment he has woken up to, what it is he might have interrupted. The man smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. They guarded, calculating.

 

He feels he should react, but is not sure how. His mind is as blank as a sheet of paper. He does not move, it seems he has forgotten how. He lays still, it is the only thing that feels natural for now. He breaks eye contact to study his surroundings. He stills and his eyes glass over as a golden pendulum swings back and forth.

He sees. All the violence, suffering, and death pour into him. His lungs burn and he takes his first gasp of breath. The smell of wet earth, blood, metal, water and chemicals hit him at once. It is a heady combination, the concoction of death oxygen. His lungs, unused for so long, feel like they are being filled with molten lava. He nearly passes out. Eyes filling with tears, he is surprised when he feels a sudden warmth in his hands and a firm grip. In waves, he regains feeling throughout his entire body. He is stiff and sore, entire body prickling as if being stabbed by a million needles over and over. How long he has been unmoving, he does not know. He feels the pain and cold-so cold that he shivers violently.

 

He looks the man up and down. His suit is smeared in mud and spattered with blood. The sight and smell of blood sends panic crawling up from his chest and he shoots up gasping and coughing. His savior, this smiling man is now looking at him with steely concern and caution because he knows that he knows. His eyes betray the beast resting inside, ready to pounce. He is afraid. The taste of death is all too much-so many lives were spent in this room, by his hand. He is afraid but this man is the only other living being here-so he reaches for him.

The larger man takes him in his arms. Naked, he crawls into his embrace and clings like a drowning man on a lifeline. Sensing his need, the man takes off his rustling transparent covers. His clothes are soft. There are many layers, but it is warm and has an inviting scent, one that draws you in. Shivering from the cold, he buries himself in the only warmth in the room, even if it is in the arms of a monster. He knows this because he has seen. He also smells of old an new blood, his body reeks of strength and control. There is something dangerous about him, a void that wants to swallow him whole. He does not care. He just needs to be held and he will take what he can.

He tries to summon his thoughts, memories-but there are none. He tries to make a sound, but all that comes out are strangled, raspy cries. There is nothing, he is empty. Fear is claws up his insides, followed closely by need-the need to be held, the need for warmth, for contact, an anchor, for anything. His head is cradled and his face buried into a strong, warm chest. He nuzzles against it, drinking in the fragrant scent, absorbing as much warmth as he can. This feeling, this smell, this heat, this body, they imprint in his empty brain. He shall remember it forever. It fills him and his shaking slowly subsides. Strong arms envelop him and stroke his back. From this, he understands that this monster does not wish to harm him, he feels safe. Somewhere in his brain he thinks, _I know monsters like this._

 

**Was there in someone**

**That dug long ago**

 

He leans back to see his savior's face. Their eyes meet again. He beholds a chiseled face with intense eyes that lock him in a stare. There is an inquisitive interest-curiosity, questioning if he is real. There is also a hunger, a lurking possessiveness that promises him he will not be able to get away, nor will things end well for him if he turns out to be a threat. He knows that look, he has seen it before though he cannot tell where or when. He shudders at the thought of being owned and claimed. He is a monster indeed, like a jealous dragon defending his treasures, and he has just become one of his possessions. Strangely, it calms him.

 

He knows he should still be terrified, and he is-but no longer for himself. The fear is morphing, changing. Something else is waking. Like a curled cat, taking its time, watching what happens before it reacts. Its claws are sheathed, fangs hidden but ready to bear itself at a moment's notice. His fear is no longer of the monster in whose arms he currently rests-but for him. He has seen what this man is capable of, but he knows that he will not be the recipient of such treatment. That thing within him stirs, quickly growing in strength. A wicked consciousness that knows even if this man attempts it, he will not succeed. It knows that he himself can do much, much worse. _I could break you too. I wonder what would you taste like._ It Only takes a moment after this thought is formed that hunger erupts in his gut, consuming him like flame on kerosene.

He tightens his arms around his handsome rescuer, fingers curling into claws and lips folding to a snarl. Bright green-blue eyes focus on the steady pulse thrumming in the neck so close within reach. His liprs curl in a snarl to reveal his sharp canines with a hiss. The man stiffens, body gone hard like iron, solid arms holding him in a vice grip keeping him still. Meanwhile he like a snake, with soft arms and legs tightening around the firm, warm body, holding him captive. Neither of them breathe nor are they able to. They look at each other, one hungry, the other searching, finding and understanding. The arms around him soften, once again soothing, stroking his back and arms up and down. He loosens his grip a smidge, just enough to allow his _prey_ to move a bit.

"Ssshhh, there, there, its alright. Everything is alright. No harm has been done. I understand you need _sustenance_. I'll take care of that. You are safe. I have you."  The voice is rich and thick like syrup, words accented and hypnotic. He gasps, then his arms go lax and his head clears. He shamefully hangs his head and remorsefully lifts his eyes. He is relieved that there is no hostility, only curiosity and awe. A warm hand rises to cup his face.  "May I?" That rich voice graces ears again. He cannot resist. He nods.

They maintain eye contact as a meaty thumb enters his mouth and presses firmly against his fangs. Skin breaks and the taste of blood fills his mouth. His eyes roll back and he moans at the taste. _It has been too long-_ the voice and thoughts don't feel like his yet are his at the same time. The taste is so good and the man holding him is so warm. It is not enough. He needs more. _He is beautiful, and he smells so good._ His body heats up, this time with a different kind of hunger, a more carnal kind of need. The suited man watches, enraptured, pupils on those maroon eyes are blown wide as he studies the flushed body in front of him. He hums, pleased. "Exquisite" he whispers.

Taking that as approval, he tongues the thumb in his mouth, lapping up the blood that oozes out of the cut. _More._ The air around them changes and the room becomes tense. He sucks gently on the thumb and it is pulled out of his lips with a gentle pop. A smear of blood stains his lips. The larger man puts his thumb into its own mouth, savoring his own blood and the saliva he left there. The expression on his face can be described as no less than wicked glee. "Come with me. You must be hungry."  His host smiles and leads him out of that death stained basement. 

 

**So I will not ask you**

**Why you were creeping**

**In some sad way I already know**

 

The taste of rhe meat is familiar. There is a sweetnes that comes only from one type of animal. He knows what kind of meat that he is served-he has seen how they are harvested, the main ingredients used in his personal cuisine. It sates his hunger. He does not remember how or why he knows and wonders if he is a monster himself. He could tell right from the very first bite-the flavor is unmistakable. The meal is prepared meticulously. It is obvious that a lot of effort has gone into preparing it, and it tastes divine. There was no way of knowing that type of meat it was unless one knew the taste. He gives his host a telltale look. The message is received and understood. He knows that he knows. He keeps eating anyways and is rewarded with another smile. 

 

The house is rich, dark and mysterious, just like the man holding his hand, leading him through the halls and corridors. He was given a silken robe to dress in and nothing more. They had eaten mostly in silence, most of their communication done through their eyes and actions. Hannibal was sure the young man understood the English language as his guest responded in nods or headshakes to his questions.  They retire to the study after their meal, in front of the fireplace. He pours two wineglasses of sweet port and hands him one. He accepts it.  

 

"Do you remember your name?" 

He gets a headshake as a response. 

"I saw something engraved on your... bed: 'William'. I believe that is your name." He doesn't mention that the name was crudely carved in and smeared with blood from the inside, nor the fact that the inner surfaces were covered with claw marks, desperate scratches done by the very being he was speaking with. He looked at the young man's hands, they appeared normal and human-for now. 

His head shoots up from the mention of the name. "Will-just Will" he croaks. The name is familiar to his ears and on his lips, like home, heard and said a million times in the past-yet it is also strange as he has no memories of it. 

"Will it is then." He likes the way it rolls off the man's tongue, like a caress that sends shivers down his spine. 

"My name is Hannibal Lecter. You may call me Hannibal."  

Will takes a sip of wine, swallows, and nods. 

"I must insist that you stay here with me, as opposed to what awaits you outside, where you might be a danger to others, or should you get caught, you will surely become a subject to curiosity and scrutiny. Nothing like you exists out there." Will flinches. He knows Hannibal is pertaining to Will's earlier behavior where he nearly took a bite out of him.  "I am a doctor and I can see to it that you get everything you need. And if you so desire, we could search for any living relations you may have, if there are any." He pauses, waiting for Will to respond. Will looks at him with forlorn eyes. He never had a choice in the first place. He was Hannibal's the moment he found his casket. He nods.

"You will stay here as my guest. All I ask in return is that you do not try to eat me again." 

He remembers their interaction downstairs-when he had Hannibal's thumb in his mouth. He drags his eyes over Hannibal's body-deliberately,slowly, and salivates. Hannibal watches his reaction with an amused expression. 

"Not unless, I ask you to." It is suddenly very, very warm. Will zeros in on Hannibal's eyes.  They are very nearly black. Will smiles.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man this is a pain! lolz. No I love it.


	3. Of Fairies and Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Will came to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at summaries. I apologize.

**I will not ask you where you came from**

**I will not ask you and neither would you**

 

Although the temptation is great, they do no more that night. They are both weary and exhausted.

Will is given the guest room across the hall from Hannibal's. The closets are stocked with pajamas, robes, and bedroom slippers. He soaks in blistering hot water which blanch his skin red as he basks in the heat he can feel to his bones, anything to take away the cold and ache of the years passed by. He gets in bed naked, clothes feel weird to him now. He is physically tired but his mind is restless. There are too many questions.

_Why was I in a casket? How long was I there? Was I dead? Am I alive? Am I human? What happened before I was put int here? Was I buried? How did Hannibal find me? What was he doing covered in blood and mud? I almost ate him. Why do I eat-why does he eat-_

He shakes his head to stop thinking. Hannibal didn’t ask him about his past or memories but the absence of them burns him. He closes his eyes and tries to sleep. 

 

*o0o* 

 

They come back to him. First in flashes  which rapidly develop into full blown nightmares. 

 

There was Maleficent. It was she who always found him and looked after him when he got himself lost in the woods as a child. He had three aunts watching over him, but they were always busy. They fussed over him and he cared for them deeply. They let him do whatever he wanted, even if that meant going alone to the forest which was inappropriate for any child. They nurtured and raised him at the cottage. In the forest, Maleficent played with and taught him everything he knew. 

He returned to the cottage one night, after spending the entire day hounding Maleficent, mapping the forest and learning about the fae from her. He was already a young man and no longer needed guidance on help in getting through the maze of trees. He happened upon one of his aunts, Fauna, who was nursing what appeared to be a bleeding hand outside the cottage.

“What happened?”

She tightened her grip on her bleeding arm which was wrapped in a towel. “We were attacked by wolves earlier. Please go up to your room William. We can take care of this.”

“Aunt Fauna, let me help. What can I do?” He reaches for her arm.

She jerks away from him, hiding her arm behind her back. “Please William, really, we’re okay.” She pales and starts shaking. 

Will is stung by her reaction, but refuses to give up. “Don’t be ridiculous Aunt Fauna. You’re hurt.” He smells the blood and feels the first wave of dizziness hit him. He leans at the wall for support. He hears a terrified shriek. Fauna has dropped the towel and was staring at him with tearful, wide eyes. “I’m alright Aunt Fauna, its just-“ She flees inside the cottage before he finishes. “Flora! Merryweather!” She screams as she rushes to their rooms. 

Will’s worry grows into panic. He runs into the cottage after her. He wonders what scared her when he catches his reflection on a window. His eyes are glowing silver.

The scent of blood hits him like a tidal wave. There are spatters of blood and flesh everywhere and a thick puddle of it on the floor. There is a trail of it, as if something or someone was dragged into their rooms.

The room flashes gold, like a swinging pendulum, time is turned back and he sees what had transpired shortly before he arrived. The vision plays out.

He watches in horror as three large wolves pounce Aunt Flora and nearly succeed in ripping her leg off. Fauna stops an oncoming attack with her arm. It was a losing battle before Merryweather came. Alerted by her sister’s cries, she charges in wand ready and was chanting in a language he could not understand. Two of the wolves implode, scattering blood, flesh and bone throughout the house. There are still 4 standing, snarling and stalking towards her.

“Fauna! Get Flora to the room and tend to her wounds.” She cries as she runs outside, wolves bounding and leaping after her. Fauna manages to drag Flora to the room, and rushes back out to lock the doors and check that there were no more wolves wandering around. This is when he arrives.

The vision ends. He could feel his consciousness slowly fading, teeth and gums itching-as if too tight. His head pounding, eyes watering although they had never been clearer than now, fingers numbly curling into half closed fists as he stumbled towards the door where the bloody tracks led.

“It’s happening. It’s happening right now. He’s changing Flora. Merryweather isn't here and we aren't ready-“

He could hear Flora’s panicked whispers inside clearly along with ragged, pained breaths. He tries the knob. It’s locked.

“Aunt Fauna, please, open the door. Flora needs help.” He rasps as he leans against the door. The pounding in his head is stronger now. Nauseous, he leans to his side and regurgitates the contents of his stomach. Drained, he leans his forehead against the door and begins banging against the door with his fist.

“Aunt Fauna, there’s something-something’s wrong. What’s happening to me?” He sobs against the door.

“William please, please go to your room. We can take care of this. We’ll come get you as soon as we've cleaned up.” Fauna begged him from inside.

“Fauna. It’s alright. There’s nothing more we can do for him now. He deserves to know the truth at least.” Flora’s voice was ragged and final.

The door slowly opens. Flora is on the bed, her leg hanging on by mere ribbons. The sheets and mattress are soaked in dark crimson. Fauna moves beside her, sobbing and eyes worriedly darting between Will and her fading sister on the bed. Will kneels at her side, weeping openly. He was no expert but he could tell that she was beyond saving.

“It’s alright dear Will. This is the natural order of things. We were caught unaware when the wolves descended upon us.” She runs her fingers through his curly hair. “You are such a beautiful child. You have me to thank for that.” She chuckles. Upon his birth, she had gifted him with beauty and fast regeneration. His eyes flicker, the silver battling to come out and overtake the sea foam green. 

“Your father is Stefan Aurelius Graham.” She begins.

“The cruel king? How is that poss-”

“Let me finish dear Will. I do not have much time left.” Flora was very weak. Her human disguise was slowly fading, slowly giving way to her true appearance: from peach colored flesh to marble gray, shimmering skin and catlike eyes with slits.

“Your father was once a kind man. He and his sister grew up near our forest and was friendly with the fae. But he was unhappy with the humans in town and how they treated him, his family, and the fae. The only way he thought he could change it was by becoming king.” Flora closes her eyes, taking deep, slow breaths.

Fauna continues. “It was never a possibility because he had no royal blood, so he tried to use the fae. No one was willing to lend him their powers as we all knew that degree of meddling with human affairs would not end well. The price to pay for that degree of magic would also be too much for an ordinary human to bear. Stefan however, was no ordinary man. Desperate, he turned to the darker fae who do not abide by the rules most of us follow to keep the peace.”

“It was Rumpelstiltskin.” Flora spat, as if the very name were dirt.

“Normally he would ask for firstborn children. But this deal was different; for Stefan’s wish, he specifically said that you, his firstborn will do the collecting for him.”

Will felt his insides turn cold.

“Stefan never thought about it too much, overconfident in his ambitions. When you strike a deal with the fae, you never really know the price until it’s been taken from you.” Flora cups his face, inhuman eyes tearing up.

"We did not approve of what he did but we could not do anything to change it. He was a good king for a few years. That was until-” she swallows, “until you came.”

“The entire kingdom was happy when you arrived. The celebrations lasted for days. Stefan was worried about the price he paid-about losing you, but forgot about it when you did not disappear.”

“You were only about four or five years when it happened. Your mother had brought you over to Stefan’s parents to visit. His sister was there with her family as well. They were such a lovely family.” Will swallowed thickly at the realization that they were all being spoken of in the past tense.

His hands were clammy and the scent of blood was thick, and was threatening to throw his consciousness to high heaven any moment.

“What happened to them Aunt Flora?” Flora was unable to speak. “Please tell me. What did I do to them? Aunt Fauna?”

“You ate them Will. All of them.” Will felt his heart drop to the floor, too stunned to react.

“The king didn't leave his room for weeks. He went nearly mad with grief-perhaps he did.”

“Doctors and scholars came to study you. The army generals wanted to use you for war. The priests wanted you burned.”

“Your father, he went to a dark place and never came back. He was never the same as he was before. He became a puppet to his advisors and the kingdom has never been worse for it.”

“He let the doctors and his generals have their way with you. They did horrible things. Things a boy like you should never had gone through-that was until the day we stole you away.”

“How come I don’t remember any of this?”

“Merryweather took those memories away. You had terrible nightmares, you woke up the entire forest with your screaming at night. You were such a precious little thing.” Fauna was starting to lose her human appearance as well. Upon closer inspection, her entire back was bloody, a deep gash ran from her shoulder to her hip. Her dress was thick and matted with drying blood.

“What am I? Am I a monster? I didn't do any-I didn't eat anyone while I was here.”

“We kept that part of you at bay Will. We kept that appetite” she paused again “sated.”

“How did you-”

“We fed you part of ourselves. It kept your instincts, your second nature under control. Apparently, ours is more filling than human flesh.”

Will was caught between disgust with himself and overwhelming love for his aunts. He was choking on his cries as he pulled his two aunts close in a bloody hug.

“You should have just let me die.”

“Oh shush you. your father was once a friend of ours. We chose to remember his kindness and save whatever good he had left, and that was you.”

“But I am a monster.”

“You are but a child-a strapping young man at this age, but you will always be our precious child. None of this is your fault. You are suffering the consequences of our kind’s twisted magic and cruelty and your father’s blind ambition. But it does not define who or what you are Will.” Fauna tells him lovingly and presses kisses to his temples.

“So the truth comes out.” Merryweather leans heavily at the door as she smiles at them. She is bleeding from at least five different places and is missing a huge chunk of her shoulder.

“They were werewolves, that bloody lot. Otherwise they wouldn't have been able to hurt us this much.” She hobbles over to their bloody pile and joins the hug.

“So this is how it ends for us eh, ladies?”

Will is sobbing “Don’t say that! What can I do? Please tell me what I can do. I can’t lose all three of you-I I I can’t-” he wails.

“Oh dear.”

“Can you remember the last time he’s cried like this?”

“Makes you miss the old days huh?”

“Oh heavens no.”

"Come here you"

“There there little baby...”

“Ssshhhh dear sweet boy...”

He feels them fuss over him, pressing kisses to his forehead, running fingers through his hair, rubbing circles on his back. It only makes him cry harder.

He looks at the three of them. Paintings and book illustrations do no justice to the naked face of fairies. Shimmering marble skin, wide cat eyes, wild hair, there were no words fit to describe them.

“You have to protect yourself little lamb.” Merryweather was looking at him all stern.

“The last wolf told me that the king would only send more to get rid of you if they failed.”

“Flora, Fauna, we have to do something for him.”

"Will, promise me you will use my gift as often as you need to-to protect yourself." Fauna had given him empathy and insight. He hated using it. 

“There is only one thing left for us.”

“Give him back his memories Merry.” Merryweather smiled at him ruefully-she had gifted him with intellect and charm. He used those as often as he could. 

“I do not want to do this, but it is necessary.” Merryweather presses her forehead against his. His vision whites out with pain. He remembers everything: the experiments, the training he underwent, and the faces of those who did it to him. Oh those faces, the monsters hiding behind kind smiles. Beings only fit to be called demons hid behind those shining eyes as they practiced depravity with no bounds. They kept him alive off human meat, slaughtering prisoners for even the pettiest of crimes. He knew well the taste of them on his tongue. 

The pounding in his head is louder than ever, but he hangs on to stay conscious, he groans, his voice rough like gravel. His stomach, now empty growls.

“Our lamb is hungry.”

“I can’t-”

“This is the last thing we can do for you Will.”

“Do not let us go to waste.”

“How could I-”

“We want this Will. We knew this would happen.”

“We are ready.”

“We love you.”

Will finally lets go, eyes glowing silver. Instinct takes over.  He devours.

 

*o0o*

 

He finds them and slaughters.

The castle walls are painted red, and his father has locked himself up in the highest tower. There are no soldiers left, no advisor, doctor, or general left breathing. Their faces all a checklist in his memory-all crossed out. They litter the castle floors, slumbering the sleep of the dead.

He climbs the tower and tears the door off its hinges. The king is sitting in an iron throne at the back of the room facing the door.

“Father.”

“You are no son of mine. He died along with my wife.”

“I wish that were true.” He looked nothing like the king. They did, however, share the same hair and eye color.

“How dare you wear her beautiful face.” The king’s disgust is paints the air.

“I never knew what she looked like.”

“You should, you killed her.”

“You killed my aunts.” His throat tightens.

“I was trying to kill you.”

“Why couldn't you just have let me be?” Tears threaten to spill over his eyes.

“Because I can’t leave the throne to a monster.”

He swallows his pain. This man is not his father, he never was.

“I’m not the only monster in here, am I?”

"Takes one to know one"

Will walks towards him until he is only an arm's length away.

"I can't leave a monster on the throne either."

He wraps a blood slick hand around the king's throat. 

They stare each other down. Stefan laughs a dry, cackling laugh.

 

"William." 

"Maleficent."

"William, stop this. This is not you." She only called him his full name when he was in trouble. She also knew he hated it. 

"This has always been me." 

Stefan only laughs harder, tears pouring out of his eyes. Will's grip on his throat tightens. "Of course you know each other! What else should I have expected. You monsters really do stick to your own kind-"

"Quiet Stefan!"

"If you had just given me what I wanted, none of this would have happened-"

"Stefan, stop it! It was never supposed to be-"

"You were supposed to be my Queen!!!"

Will is shocked, but he doesn't release the king's throat. He glares at Maleficent. "Speak." 

Maleficent looks at him with pleading eyes. She looks at the madman on the throne then back at him. 

"Stefan and I were once...lovers. The last king wanted to take over our forest. He nearly wiped out the town and destroyed the forest itself in the process, but I stopped his armies. This was what made Stefan want the throne. He asked me first, to use my magic against the old king, and put him on the throne. He said he would make me his queen. With my strength, we could take over the entire country and make it a safe place for humans and fae."

She stopped, her eyes were wet with tears. She looked at Stefan in the eyes.

"I refused. Magic comes at a price. sometimes it takes more than what it gives. What you asked for was too great. Look at what it took from you. Even now, you are still paying the price!" 

"That" Stefan spat, "is not my son. He is dead! You and your cursed kind did this to me! You monsters should all burn, if I have to light the flame myself! If its the last thing I do on this earth-" 

Will lifts the frail man by his throat, silver eyes glaring. "Enough from you. It is about time I sent you back where you belong."

"Will don't! Please. Let us go back to the forest. We can turn away and forget all this." She puts herself in between Will and the mad king. Her hands are on his face, making him look at her, soothing.  

He remembers his aunts. "I can't" he sobs. "I-"

Maleficent cries out as a blade pierces through her chest and enters the soft skin of his chest-a shallow wound.

She sags against him and he pulls the blade from the hilt sticking out her back.  

Stefan smirks at him triumphantly. "Your kind was always weak against iron." 

Will carries Maleficent a short distance away and lays her down gently. "Are you alright?" His eyes wide and concerned.

She winces in pain, "I'm hurt but Will, please! Let us leave this place. Please-" She is weak and cannot get up to stop him anymore. She is bleeding. 

This only fuels Will's anger even more. He could not lose all his aunts and Maleficent in one night. "Stay here. I'll finish this and we shall return to the forest."

He turns to face Stephan-eyes bright with fury, fangs out and teeth bared. His voice is rough and inhuman.

"You forget, _father_ , that I am not fae." 

Stephan shakes with laughter, but his eyes are wide with fear. _Mad king indeed._

He shoves his father on the throne. With one hand, he secures the struggling man on the seat. With the other hand, he holds the crown over his head and drags it down, shoving the too tight metal through the king's skull.  Hair, scalp, skin and flesh tear but he does't stop. The man screams and screams. Forehead, nose, cheeks, lips and chin are skinned and the flesh hang from the crown's sharp edges, painting the diamonds on it a beautiful red. 

Stephan is gasping in pain and his struggling weakens. Will picks up the discarded sword and impales the king, blade passing through his chest and piercing through the iron throne. The crown now rests on his collar, adorning his neck. "Now no one can ever take the crown or remove you from the throne."  

 Maleficent watches in horror at Will's work. She softens when he returns to her side. She was always on his side, after all. He lifts her and they leave. 

 

 *o0o*

 

 Will lays her on the forest floor, she is still bleeding out. "No, no, no. Not you too Maleficent. I can't lose you too."

"William, you cry too much. You'll wake up the entire forest." She breathes.

"Take me with you, please. End my life. I do not wish to live feeding off humans or the fae." He sobs. 

"Oh my dear sweet child." Maleficent weeps, taking pity on him. 

" I cannot change your nature, nor kill you; But I will put you to sleep. Someday, you shall rise, when you meet someone who can be your equal. Someone who can be with you in all aspects and keep you grounded. Your nature will not be a threat to your partner for you will be matched equally, and keep each other safe. I pray you will not remember any of your past when you awaken. This is the most that I can do, my dearest." 

"No! I do not want to exist in a world where you nor my aunts exist! No, Maleficent. Please!" Will finds himself unable to move as a hollow crystal rises from the ground. He is gently settled into it. He is only able to move again once the crystal is sealed shut. He claws at the crystal, rages against it, willing it to break. Maleficent places a hand on the surface, right in front of his face. 

"I am sorry Will. You are currently at your strongest. I on the other hand, am dying. If I were to wait for you to acquiesce my wish for you, I would be long dead."

Will becomes wild with grief. So he is to lose everything, all that he loves in one night. 

"I am sorry dearest. I cannot leave you out here alone. I will watch you slumber before I pass." She chokes on the words, crying as well. 

It takes a while for her spell to finally take over him. She opens the crystal. He is bloody, but peaceful.

"Well, it won't do for your future beloved to see you in this sorry state now will it?" She talks to him fondly, as if he were awake. She cleans him, she lines the casket with red and white roses preserved in wax. He is once again carefully laid inside, this time on a bed of roses. She clicks her tongue at the scratch marks he made. There are scratches that are particularly deep. She touches it. 'WILL' it reads. 

She smiles tearfully. "Fighting me till the end. Clever boy." _You should at least have your full name._ She continues the etching until it reads 'WILLIAM GRAHAM'.

She touches the bleeding wound on her chest, and the name they have both engraved in the crystal, smearing it with her blood.

"I pray you do not forget me, but perhaps this is for the best." She kisses his forehead for the last time. 

 

"Sleep well my little Briar Rose."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have made it my personal mission to create Hannigram every princess story out there. This is the Sleeping beauty version. This was originally to be just a Song fic, but it suddenly hit me how well the fairytale fits the song (to me at least).  
> Well...I have been listening to this song for 4 days on repeat.
> 
> It is my birthday and this is my treat to myself. hehehe


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